Part Two

"What was that?" Willow asked sleepily.

"I think it was the doorbell." Xander rolled over and touched the lamp beside the bed.

The sound came agin, making Xander sigh.

"Who would be here at this time of night?" Willow asked, setting up and touching her own lamp. "God, look at the time. . ."

"I'll take care of it," Xander assured her. He slipped his robe on and made his way downstairs, switching lights on as he went. He was so angry at being disturbed from his rest that he unbolted and yanked open the front door without even checking to see who was outside.

"What do you want?" he demanded, swinging open the door. And then he saw who stood on his step.

She wore the same clothes that she had earlier in the evening. The rings in her ears were the same. Her hair was still in its tight braid. Yet somehow the woman that stood before him was someone that he'd never seen before. Her shoulders slumped. Her face was red and splotched from crying. And her eyes were so empty - so empty. . .

"He's gone," Buffy said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Whatever you said to him, it worked. He's gone."

Xander swallowed. "Buffy," he croaked. He coughed and tried again. "Buffy, I'm sorry."

"Why would you be sorry?" she asked softly, oh so softly. "It's what you wanted, for him to leave me. Behold your success." Not a muscle on her face changed shape, reflected any emotion. "Why aren't you dancing for joy? He did what you wanted. See, here I am, alone."

Slowly Xander shook his head. "I just - just wanted you to be happy. He couldn't do that for you. All he could do was destroy you, one day at a time. You deserve peace, Buff. To be happy."

"To be happy," Buffy echoed. She laughed, a little broken sound. "What is happiness, Xander? Tell me, if you know. Is it wandering from city to city, downing alcohol in strange bars until three, four o'clock in the morning? Is it laying down with strangers and feeling disgust in the morning? Is it waking up screaming every night from nightmares of war? Is it crying your eyes out in a cold exam room after miscarrying your second child? Is it being desperately jealous of your friends because they have families, spouses, homes full of love? Tell me, Xander, what happiness is."

She looked at him out of clouded, lost eyes. There was no bitterness in her voice. "You must know what it is. Tell me you do. All I know is what it is not." She turned her head, looked at something Xander couldn't see. "I thought I knew what it was. . .once. . ."

"Buffy, come inside," he said, reaching for her hand.

She looked back at him for a moment and shook her head. Saying not a word more, she turned and began to walk down the street.

"Buffy," Xander called. "Buffy, wait!"

But she was gone, lost to the shadows of the night.

He pounded his fist against the doorway and cursed. Turning, he stepped back into the house, shut and bolted the door. He leaned his forehead against the cool wood of the door and sighed.

God, what a mess. He wondered how he was going to tell Willow.

Finally he gathered his thoughts together and turned to go back upstairs.

Willow stood at the foot of the staircase looking at him, emotions playing across her face.

How much had she heard? "Will," Xander began.

"How could you?" she asked, her voice confused and hurt.

"I didn't mean to," he said, then shook his head. "No, that's not true. I did mean to. I wanted him to leave her alone. I know she's
hurting right now, but it'll pass. She's better off without him. She can have a normal life -"

"What, killing things every night?" Willow's voice rose in anger. "She's the Slayer, Xander, she's not normal. She's never had a normal life, she's never going to have a normal life. Where the hell do you get off saying she'd better off without him?"

He motioned for her to keep her voice down. "Calm down, Will. We both know he would have left sooner or later anyway. Let's not fight over this."

Willow snorted. "Yeah, you're right. Let's not fight over the fact that you've just ruined the life of our best friend. Let's not fight about anything. Let's not fight ever agin. Let's just get divorced."

He starred at her in shock. "What?"

"You heard me." She looked at him with he had once called her Resolved Face.

"You want a divorce because Buffy's blood-sucking boyfriend left her?" he demanded, his voice now rising.

"Yes!" Willow cried back. "I want a divorce because you've broken Buffy's heart as much as Angel has. I want a divorce because you never listen to me anymore, and because you spend more time at the office than you do with your kids, and because you act like you know what's best for everyone." Suddenly her voice crashed. Hardly above a whisper she added, "And I want a divorce because some day that's going to be our daughter out there in the shadows, and you are so blind that you haven't even noticed."

Xander looked at her, confused. "What are you saying?"

"What do you think I'm saying, Alexander Harris?" she shot back. "Have you ever asked yourself, even once, why I'm becoming a Watcher? Why I gave up a fantastic career and a great job to come and study demons and zombies and other weird stuff? Why do you think that is?"

Realization dawned suddenly in his mind. "No," he said, shaking his head.

"Oh yes," she replied wearily, the anger suddenly drained out of her. "I began to wonder several years ago when she started to show signs of unusual physical strength and speed. I found the mark on her two years ago."

"Right before you took up your training," he said softly.

She nodded. "I put a glamour on her right away. No one knows but us, not even the Council. Being Buffy's friend was the perfect excuse as to why I wanted to join them. Even you believed it."

He looked at her, sorrow spread across his face. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Willow closed her eyes, shook her head. "There's a lot I haven't told you about her. I suppose I should, now. The first thing you should know is - she isn't mine."

"What do you mean, she isn't yours?" Now he really looked confused. "She was our first child. We went to lamause classes together, remember? You swelled up like a watermelon. I was there."

That got a laugh out of her. "You told me I hardly showed."

He smiled. "I lied."

"Oh Xander," she said, laying a hand on his face. "You know I love you. We've been married for almost thirteen years. But I loved Oz, and when we were together, we wanted to have kids too. I could never get pregnant." She paused, then continued. "Buffy was going to fix it so she couldn't have children, so I asked her if I could - you know - borrow some DNA. . ."

He shook his head. "I don't get it."

"An implant. I had an implant," she blurted out, flustered. "But I still didn't get pregnant. I thought it was just a waste of time. But then Elizabeth came along. . ."

"So you're not sure?"

Willow shook her head. "Every time I look at her, I'm sure. She's Buffy's. And God, Xander, I don't want her to end up like Buffy.
Alone, wishing that the one she loved would come back - Don't you understand, Xander? You've ruined it for her, for our best friend. You did it deliberately. And I can't - I won't let you do that to our daughter, too."

"I'd never hurt our child," he began hotly.

"Like you'd never hurt our friend?" she interrupted softly.

He only starred down at her.

"Fix it, Xander," she pleaded, her eyes begging him to listen. "Find Angel. Say whatever you have to to get him back with her. Please."

"And if I can't?" he asked. "Are you going to leave?"

In answer, she turned her back on him and began to walk up the stairs. Her long robe rustled softly on the carpet, whispering of things better left unsaid.

*****

She wandered through the city, losing herself in the lights and sounds. She wasn't going anywhere in particular - she was just going.
Nothing was real anymore. Yesterday, today, ten years past - it was all blurred together.

Get a grip, she told herself at some point. It's not the end of the world.

But God, it very much felt like it was. . .

No, she said sternly. So what if he's gone? Get over it. Tomorrow it'll be like it never happened. All you have to do is get through the night.

How could she get through even one night? All she could think of was the note she'd found abandoned on the desk.

‘Dearest Buffy,' it had begun, only to be scratched out and replaced with ‘Beloved.' ‘Beloved,' it had read, ‘please know that I love you more than I've ever loved anything else in the world. Please, please believe that. And because I love you, I want you to be free -'

She laughed, remembering that. She laughed until her sides ached. It was either laugh or throw herself down in the middle of the street and scream and cry. How could he have planned to just leave her a note?

There was no way she was going to make it through the night.

You'll live, that cold little voice assured her. You always do. You just have to make it through the night.

"And how am I suppose to do that?" she demanded of herself.

The same way you always do it, the voice said.

And how *did* she usually make it through those long, solitary nights when she was finished slaying and tired of being alone?

She looked around her, taking stock of where she was for the first time. As best she could tell, she was close to the heart of the city.
The street was well-lit from the signs and street lamps; people were passing her by in both directions.

Across the street from where she stood there was a pub. Sighing, she headed for it.

*****

She sat down at the bar and felt the eyes of several people on her. Boldly she looked around the crowded room, her gaze piercing the cloud of smoke to evaluate the men looking at her. She had visited the restroom, washed her face and finger-combed her hair. Now she had a teasing half-smile on her face. Sure, she wasn't the young, beautiful thing Angel had first fallen for, but she knew she wasn't all that far from it, either.

Angel. Damn - couldn't she go five minutes without thinking of him?

She swung around on her stool and gestured at the bartender.

He came, smiling when he neared. "What can I get for you?"

First things first. "Do you accept American currency?"

"Sorry," he said, shaking his head. "You might try O'Malley's, right down the street -"

She opened her wallet, offered him plastic. "How about Visa?"

"It's everywhere you want to be," he answered, reciting the company's pet phrase.

"Great," she said, and gave him one of her best smiles. "Gimme a Scotch, sweetest. No - make it a double."

"Anything for you, love."

She turned on her stool, glass in hand. Looking out at the room, she thought, Here's to forgetting you, Angel - have a nice life. She downed the drink in one swig, placed it back on the bar for a refill. She smiled at a particular man across the room, one with blond hair and light eyes. He smiled back at her.

Let the fun begin, she thought bitterly.

*****

"Angel?" a voice called from behind him. "Angel, is that you?"

Angel seriously considered making a break for it. He didn't want to face Giles right now. What would he say? How could he explain? The leather duffle bag on his shoulder was a dead giveaway that something was wrong.

But slowly he stopped and turned to face the Englishman and his wife.

Giles took one look at him and the bag he was carrying and knew something was not right. "Mari, dear, why don't you go on ahead and I-I'll catch up to you."

The woman beside him cast him a slanted look. She didn't like being disposed of. But she looked from Giles to Angel and slowly nodded. "Goodnight Angel," she said, brushing past him.

"Goodnight, Mari," he automatically told her, wishing he had said more. He liked the fiery woman, and was sorry he would not get to know her better.

"Where are you going?" Giles asked after a moment.

They stood in the alley beside the hotel. Angel had come to pick up the bag he had left at the desk earlier in the evening. He wished desperately that he'd decided to use the main street, for once. "Away," he said quietly.

Giles hesitated. "A-and Buffy?"

"No," he softly answered.

Slowly Giles removed his glasses and pulled a cloth from his pocket. He began to clean the lenses. "I see."

Angel heard the emotions behind that quiet statement. Anger. Sorrow. Confusion. But no surprise. "I'll see you," he said, turning away.

"Did you at least tell her goodbye properly this time?" Giles called after him. His voice was carefully devoid of emotion. "You didn't do anything foolish, like leave her a note, did you? You did actually have the courage to break her heart in person, yes?"

"Why are you making this harder on me?" Angel demanded, spinning back to face him.

"Harder on you?" Giles echoed scornfully. "D-do you have any idea what this will do to h-her?" With the hand that held his glasses he gestured at the hotel. "I would believe that it is reasonable to say she's up there right now crying her heart out."

Angel hardened his heart. "She's strong. She's better off without me distracting her," he said, quoting Xander. "She'll have a better life."

"Yes, and let's examine her life up to one month ago, shall we?" Giles suggested, suddenly calm once more. He went back to cleaning his lenses. "Where shall we begin? Ah, I know. Let's begin with the war. The war did a-a lot for her. It taught her how to seal off her
emotions, and how to drown out her thoughts in alcohol. It taught her how to kill human beings as easily as she kills vampires - which
actually fits in well with the alcohol. Oh, but let's not forget the true benefits the war bestowed upon her, such as the ability to sleep in windowless rooms lest she go through the glass while resting, and the desire to occasionally end her own life because of the things she was forced to do during that time."

"Suicide?" Angel asked disbelievingly.

Giles glanced at him, unimpressed. "Twice. She almost met with success the second time. All she had to do was fight the demons with a little less determination. . " He sighed. "And then, of course, there were the men. Lord, the fools she choose to associate with - idiots, every one of them. Well, I take that back. There were a few descent ones among the many morons, but they never lasted long. She always parted ways with the good ones - hell, she parted ways with all of them sooner rather than later. Not always on the best of terms, either, mind you. She's not good with partings, although God knows she's had enough practice."

"That's enough," Angel said quietly.

"Enough?" Giles echoed, slipping his glasses back on. "But I haven't told you about the miscarriages yet. You wanted her to have children, correct? Well, she did give it her best shot. Without success, unfortunately, but she did try. With all the fighting she did, she simply couldn't carry any to term, although she did manage to keep one for several months. She was so depressed when she lost that one -"

"Stop," Angel pleaded.

"- But she handled it fairly well, between pretending she didn't care in the daylight and drinking herself into oblivion in the night -"

"Stop it. . ."

"- She did pick up this small problem of wandering from city to city without telling anyone where she was going, though. It truly bothered Willow and Xander for a time, but after a while they became use to the idea that she would die alone on some dark street -"

"I said shut up!" Angel dropped his bag and grabbed the aging Englishman by his jacket.

"But don't you already know all of these things?" Giles returned calmly. "You're about to condemn her to this life once more. . .I assumed you knew. . ."

Angel angrily released him. "I can't stay -"

"I didn't ask you to," Giles said cuttingly. "Just don't expect her to have some perfect life when you're gone. Not bloody likely."

Angel closed his eyes for a moment, his shoulders slumping in defeat. "If I stay, she won't live one more year," he said softly.

Giles was silent for a moment. "I assume you have this on good authority?"

"Whistler." Angel sighed., ran a hand over his face. "If I leave her alone, she lives a long time, but if I stay. . ." Even in the darkness he could see the expression on Giles' face. Suddenly the Englishman looked like nothing more than a tired old man faced with a no-win situation.

"I suppose the only matter you must decide upon is whether you want her to live happily for a short time or miserably for a long time," he said slowly. "It's not my decision to make; I'm not certain it's yours, either. But if it were my decision, I know what I would choose."

Angel starred at him for a long time. And then he abruptly turned, snatched up his bag, and ran for the doors of the hotel.

"Good man," Giles softly said into the darkness.

*****

He didn't even stop to knock. He simply sliced the key card through the scanner and threw open the door, expecting her to be there.

But the room was empty and eerily silent.

"Buffy?" he called. He moved into the room, leaving the door open behind him. "Buffy?"

No voice returned an answer.

He looked around frantically. Her make-up was still in the bathroom. Her clothes were still in the closet. But she herself was gone.

Suddenly his eyes fell on the writing desk. Slowly he walked towardsit.

There in the center lay a crumpled wad of paper. Angel reached out and opened it, found it was the note he'd begun earlier in the night.
Beside it lay the remains of a photograph. It had been a picture he and Buffy had taken together less than a week before. It was ripped in fourths, their smiling faces torn away from each other and then sliced in half.

"Where are you, Beloved?" he asked softly. He was going to make this up to her no matter how long it took, no matter what he had to do. . .

"She's in a bar not far from here," a voice said from behind him.

Angel turned to glare at the man standing in the doorway. "How would you know, Xander?"

Xander shrugged. "'Cause I've been watching her for the past two hours." He paused, added quickly, "Look, Angel, I'm sorry. I was way outta line. . ."

Angel glared at him.

"And I realize that neither one of you is ever going to forgive me, but before you completely write me off, listen to me this one last time," he pleaded, throwing out his hands. "I'm sorry for what I said before. I still believe it's true, but that's not the point. The point is, you guys have a chance. Another chance. How likely is it that you two would get together again twenty years after you break up? How likely is it that you'd both still feel the same? Buffy was right - that's fate. And you can't let anything I or anyone else says stand in your way."

Angel glanced down at the torn picture. "Tell me something I don't know, Xander," he said finally. "Tell me exactly where she is."

*****

The pub was significantly emptier than it had been when she first came in, but she didn't care. She was use to it - and besides, it wasn't as if she was alone.

She had made a friend. What was his name - Rob or Mac or John or something short like that. He was cute, with his fair blue eyes and sandy blonde hair. He made her laugh at silly little things. He wore a rings on his left hand, but so what? She did too. It didn't mean a damn thing.

She downed another drink, smiled and motioned for another. The bartender was giving her an odd, sad look. Maybe she didn't look happy enough. She widened her smile.

"What are you smiling at, beautiful?" the man beside her laughed.

"You," she returned, turning to face him.

Abruptly she found his lips on hers. She didn't push him away, but she didn't respond, either. She really didn't care one way or another. She was just killing time until morning. However he wanted to do it was fine with her.

Or so she thought. But when he pulled away, she heard herself whisper, "Oh Angel. . .", and she knew it wasn't going to work.

"Let's go back to my place, Anne," he said quietly.

She turned away from him. "I can't. Sorry." She was no longer smiling.

He caught her chin in his hand, made her look at him. "Come on, it's not that far -"

"No." She pulled out of his grasp, finished another drink.

He was not happy. "What happened? A moment ago -"

"The lady said no," a voice said behind him.

Buffy knew that voice. She would recognize it if it whispered to herthrough a crown of screaming people. It was the voice of the man who held her heart.

She gave no sign that she recognized it. She motioned to the bartender.

*****

"Back off, friend," the man told Angel warningly.

Angel was in no mood for games. Catching the man by his shirt, he swung him away from the bar. "Get lost."

The blond man started to curse and stepped towards him. To avoid such a public fight, Angel picked up Buffy's hand and placed his beside it, where the man could clearly see their matching rings.

The stranger got the message. Quickly he moved away. Buffy jerked her hand out of his grasp and agin motioned the bartender for another drink.

"Buffy, let's go talk somewhere privately," he said quietly. He could tell this wasn't going to be easy.

She didn't even look at him. She did, however, smack her palm down on the bar to get the tender's attention.

"Please, Buffy, let's talk about it."

"Go away," she hissed softly. "You're good at that." Raising her voice, she called, "Hey, can I get a refill here?"

Angel had seen that one coming. "Just give me a chance to explain -"

"I gave you a chance, remember?" She finally turned to look at him. "You swore to me that you'd never leave. You lost your chance."

"I'm not going anywhere," he told her. "Things can be as they were. I know I hurt you, but I'll make it up to you."

She laughed shortly. "You never listen to me. I told you when you walked out that I wouldn't let you come back. You should have paid more attention. . . Hello, I'd like another drink down here!" she called to the wretched man at the end of the counter, who was staying away from her as Angel had told him to do.

"You've had enough," Angel snapped, snatching up her glass and pushing it behind him.

She gave him a furious glance. "Who the hell do you think you are?" she demanded. She stood and started to walk away, anger etched in every movement.

"Someone who loves you," he returned, just as angry.

"Love?" she echoed, her voice rising. "Love? Love is waking up beside the person you care about most in all the world, morning afer morning. Love is becoming worried when the one you care about most in all the world is running late for dinner. Love is spending time doing meaningless things just so you can be together. Love is NOT coming back to your hotel room to find the one you care about most in all the world writing you a goodbye note!" Her voice was high but quiet, a scream voiced in a whisper.

He couldn't remain angry at her. Hesitantly he reached out and laid a hand on her shoulder. "I do love you, Buffy."

She sighed, looked away. After a moment her gaze turned back to him, and when it did he saw that it held no anger, only sorrow. "I know," she said softly, very softly. She took his hand from her shoulder and held it in both of hers. Looking him in the eyes, she added just as quietly, "And I love you. I love you so much that I do terrible things to myself when I'm alone. But no pain I ever suffer can compare to what I feel every time you walk away from me. I can't take it, Angel, and I'm sorry for that. I'm sorry I can't be strong enough to try again."

He shook his head at her words, rejecting them.

"If you truly love me," she said quickly, before he could speak, "if you love me as much as I love you, then you'll walk out that door and never cross my path again. Please, Angel, listen to me, just this once."

Angel was still for a long moment, and then he pulled her hands to his lips and kissed them, those calloused, scarred, beautiful hands.

Releasing her, he stood and said softly, "No. Never again. You can spend as much time in bars as you want, take as many lovers as you please, curse me until you're blue in the face, and I still won't go away. If you run, I'll follow you; if you hide, I'll track you down. Every time you turn around, I'll be there. You'll never be alone. I'll never leave - not even if you kill me."

Hope flashed in her eyes, a desperate desire to believe him, but then she sighed and turned away.

He had lost her. He thought he was going to weep right there in the middle of the bar. He had lost her.

"Where are you going?" he called after her, his voice low and rough.

"To the little girls' room, if you must know," she answered softly. "This is not over. I'll be right back."

And despite himself, Angel laughed.

*****

She didn't know what to do. Making the excuse that she had to visit the restroom has just been a way to get away from him for a moment. She couldn't think clearly when she was near him. Every time she so much as glanced in his direction she wanted to run into his arms and beg him not to leave. But once away from him, she realized how hopeless it was to think that he'd stay forever. He wouldn't. Something would happen, and then she'd once again be faced with his goodbye. She couldn't face that anymore. But she couldn't face losing him now, either.

Reluctantly she shut off the light and stepped back into the main room. She glanced to her right and saw another door with an EXIT sign plastered above it. All at once she was forced to decide.

To the left waited Angel, and all the complexities that came with him. Love, love that she never had and would never feel for anyone else. Fear, that he would leave. Hope, that he would stay.

To the right lay an unlocked door to a dark alley. She could be out in a second, lost in the night. She could make a dash back to the hotel, grab a few things, get to the airport and catch the next flight back to the states. Scratch that - she had her wallet. She could simply hit the airport; she hadn't brought anything with her that she couldn't live without. In a month or two she could call Giles and let him know where she was. She would never have to face Angel again. . .

She could do it. . .

*****

Angel began to wonder what was keeping her. He stood up and followed the way she had gone, stopped suddenly when he saw her facing a door that led outside.

She was very clearly torn between going out and returning to the main room - and him.

You've really done it this time, fool, he cursed himself. If shewalked out that door -

Please, Buffy, he thought silently. Just one last try. . .

*****

Someone was watching her. She turned, scanning the shadows. Angel stood watching her from only a short distance away. His face was calm, composed; his eyes completely gave him away.

She could remember another time they had stood this way, with nothing between them but a handful of steps. They had just defeated Sunnydale's
ascended mayor, prevented him from destroying the entire town. She had known Angel was leaving, but when she'd turned and found him watching
her she had finally realized that the end had come. Had she looked the way he did now? Had her eyes pleaded with him not to leave, promised him anything if he would stay?

She knew they had. She wondered how he could have walked away from her that night. She could certainly never walk away from someone looking at *her* like that.

She walked forward, her choice made.

*****

Angel caught her up in his arms, crushed her to him in a bone-breaking hug that she fiercely returned.

The End